Sullen Fate
by xxlostdreamerxz
Summary: AU Darkly Treacherous: What happens when Harry is captured by the Light side?
1. Prophecy

**Sullen Fate**

By: xxlostdreamerxz

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Second Prophecy**

_Nothing is ever set in stone. There is always a chance for change, for retribution... _

* * *

**Underground Prison (Hogwarts)**

One Harry James Potter, dubbed Alex Mortimer by his adoptive father, sat huddled in the corner of the dungeons. Streaks of blood and dirt covered his once finely-made blue battle robes, which now bore a grimy and tattered appearance. 'I-It has to be a dream,' he thought firmly, as he stared blankly at the moss-covered ceiling. 'Father couldn't be killed so easily. He is immortal...'

A sense of calm grew upon him as he allowed his logic to take root. His dull emerald green eyes glazed over as a flood of memories from the dreaded battle invaded his mind.

_"Tonight we shall conquer the world, brat," murmured a familiar voice, "No more shall the muggle-lovers seek to undermine our power. Tonight we shall strike them at their most vulnerable point - Hogwarts. If we take out the Light's main base, destroy their children - their future, the Light shall have no hope." _

Harry buried his head in his arms as he tried to block out the voices.

_"Alex, you will lead the attack on Hogsmade," his father hissed softly, as his ruby red eyes flickered with suppressed emotion. "Kill all those who stand in your way. Show no mercy, for the Light does not deserve such leniency." Voldemort seemed to hesitate for a moment, before he reached out and gave his heir a comforting squeeze on the shoulder. "Fear not boy, everything will work on in the end," he whispered, leaning closer so that Alex was the only one who could hear. _

A crazed look entered in Harry's eyes, transforming dull emerald into a burning inferno of pain. He did not want to hear this part again.

_"Lucius, what are you doing here? Aren't you in Father's squad?" he heard himself demand, as he turned towards the blonde Death Eater. "Why aren't you at Hogwarts?"_

Harry's fingernails dug into his arms as he tried to force himself forget. H-He knew what was to happen next, gods, how he hated it.

_"The Dark Lord is loosing!" the man hissed, forgetting who he was yelling at. "Dumbledore and his pet Gryffindor are driving him back!" Lucius's stormy gray eyes glittered with fear. "We need reinforcements, boy! Go help him!"_

Harry was shaking violently at his point. By the gods, this had to be a dream. No, a nightmare. He couldn't, no..._refused_ to believe that his father could be killed so easily. Nate, his younger brother, with the help of Dumbledore shouldn't even be strong enough to harm the Dark Lord's little toe. This dream was absurd, yet in its own way...strangely real.

_"Father!" he heard himself scream. He could still see his father, dressed in his o' so a powerful set of midnight black battle robes, standing there alone against the Light army (for his entire army of Death Eaters had long deserted him). There was something akin to resignation in his father's countenance - a light droop in the shoulders, a strangely dazed smirk, and an emptiness in his eyes that spoke volumes of his pain. At the sound of his heir's voice, Voldemort was started out of his stupor and turned ever so slightly._

_"Get out of here Alex," the Dark Lord ordered quietly. "You are not meant to be here. It is my time to face the prophecy."_

_A tingle of anticipation ran down his spine at those words. Never once in the entire history of the magical world had there ever been a prophecy which hadn't resulted in blood and doom for both opposing parties. Alex shivered lightly. Prophecies were a serious business. "What prophecy?" he insisted, trying to hide his shaking voice. _

**/Two paths stand before thee Lord of Serpents,**

**And take whichever you will for Death will deal its blow**

**Upon that you cherish most.**

**Perhaps' the enticing power of the Dark shall overcome your overwrought nerves?**

**Or will long fostered loyalty triumph?**

**Two roads, two paths, will lead you onward. **

**Pick as you may, **

**For only one may be the victor/ **

_Voldemort hissed softly as he repeated the prophecy in Parseltongue. **/A vampire companion of ours reported this prophecy to me even before you came under my custody. I can choose either face my own Death or yours/** he hissed as an unknown emotion entered his eyes. **/You will be a great leader, my heir. Do not doubt yourself. You are possess the potential to surpass even myself in strength/.** Voldemort paused for a moment as he collected his thoughts. **/You will carry the blood of Slytherin to greatness/**_

_Alex shook his head violently. "Y-You're mad!" he stuttered out. "Why now? Even if the prophecy is legitimate, it could wait. Why are you marching to your doom!"_

_Voldemort gave his heir a mysterious smiled. "Because it is time." _

_"NO! YOU CAN'T!" he roared fervently, as he tried to make his way through the Order members and ministry Aurors. "DON'T DO THIS!" _

Harry's breath came out in violent gasps, as he returned to reality. It was a nightmare, nothing more than a horrid nightmare. It would go away, it had to. This wasn't real, it just couldn't be. A loud insane laugh burst out of his lips. A laugh that was broken with with sobs.

Gods...but then why did it have to seem so real?

* * *

Sanity is after all overrated...

* * *

Dumbledore stared unblinkingly at the trembling figure on the ground. So this was the Dark Lord's heir. A boy of eighteen with a head full of messy black hair and emerald green eyes. A boy that looked disturbingly familiar. And it was this particular resemblance that disturbed the headmaster to no end.

The boy looked like James, but he had Lily's eyes.

And yet, the boy also looked like an exact carbon copy of Tom Riddle.

Who...was he?

He leaned forward as he noticed the boy's lips moving as he repeated a mantra. 'Not real, it is a nightmare. Not real...' Dumbledore's midnight blue eyes flickered with a hint of pity, before it turned neutral. So the battle had unhinged the boy, as it so seemed. But then again, he knew better than to feel sorry for the lad.

The same boy that had decimated dozens of Order members within minutes to get to his father. A boy that had destroyed and burned the newly rebuilt Hogsmade down to the ground. A tingle of fear trailed down Dumbledore's spine. The boy was _dangerous_. And if the boy wanted revenge...

Chaos would ensue.

Dumbledore couldn't help but suspect that the boy possessed even greater power that Voldemort himself, even without the aid of Dark rituals. He had _felt_ the boy's power, even at from a distance. It was strong, so much that it had caused him to freeze at its intensity.

Power of such a degree was not meant to exist! But thankfully, the boy had not learned to properly manipulate and control his power. And it was, only during extremely trying times that it came to the surface...

"Where am I?" the boy croaked, as he raised his emerald green eyes to meet Dumbledore's.

The headmaster met the boy's eyes unflinchingly. "You're in the dungeons beneath Hogwarts," he replied neutrally, as he studied the boy's expression. And saw nothing but pain. "May I perhaps inquire who you might be?"

The tension in the room seemed to thicken as the boy remained silent. Dumbledore had just about given up hope that the boy would answer when the boy mumbled hesitantly, "You can call me Alex."

Dumbledore dipped his head in agreement.

An awkward silence echoed about the stone walls as the headmaster waited patiently for the boy to talk. Surely the lad would have _some_ questions pertaining to the prior battle...

...or anything for the matter.

Was the boy planning something? A miraculous escape? Or perhaps revenge? Dumbledore shook his head, he dearly hoped not. The last thing he needed was another Dark Lord to rise so soon after the downfall of another. The wizarding world needed time to rebuild itself, time to heal the horrible wounds of war. Dumbledore was jerked out of his thoughts as he heard the metallic sound of the door being swung open. He turned ever so slightly as he caught sight of his darkly cloaked potions master.

"Severus, I'm glad you could make it," he greeted, as his sparkling blue eyes gained a bit more life. "Did bring the truth serum?"

Snape scowled, but nevertheless handed over the bottle of bluish white liquid. Unconsciously, his beetle black eyes darted over towards the bloodied figure on the ground - Alex, the Dark Lord's heir. A hint of guilt swirled around his gut. As much as he disliked the boy, he couldn't help but admire him. Snape was a Slytherin through and through, and power like that the boy possessed, sang to him. Just like Voldemort's had before. Given time, he couldn't help but wonder...could the boy be _the_ one leader that he could possibly follow?

"M'boy, you have two choices," the headmaster said quietly, as he lifted the boy's chin. Dumbledore felt another flicker of pity as he glanced into those sad emerald green orbs, but ruthlessly suppressed it. "You could either drink this potion freely, or we can force you." Dumbledore paused for a second to allow his words to sink in. "Do you understand?"

A spark of _something_ flickered across the boy's emotionless eyes. "You know, it might surprise you to know...," he said softly, "...how much you remind me of the Dark Lord."

Dumbledore flinched.

"You two are as similar as two sides of a coin," Alex continued eerily, "_He_ supports the Dark side, while you support the Light. And yet..." The boy shoot Dumbledore a disarming smile. "...you would be surprised how alike you two think and act." A cruel smile grew upon Alex's face, causing Dumbledore's eyes to darken in horror. "Whatever crimes you both commit are all in the name of the 'greater good' of the wizarding world, no? Well, let me tell you something. The 'greater good' you so believe in, does not exist. It is merely a fantasy, a dream that haunts you every waking moment. A dream that you've used to justify your crimes..."

"You're wrong," retorted the headmaster, as a single tear trickled down his wan face. "I am doing my best to protect the children, the innocents of the war."

"Innocents?" snorted Alex, "There are innocents on both sides of the war, Dumbledore. Your so called 'protection' only extends to those who support your beliefs." The boy stared blankly up at the ceiling. "Surely you understand Dumbledore, that Death Eaters are not only criminals who need to be brought to justice. They have families that love and care for them; families that you have destroyed with your so called Light campaign."

Snape stepped forward, his eyes flashing with annoyance. "Don't bother Dumbledore, just administer the potion already!" he demanded. "You can bicker with the boy whenever you please! Now, get on with it."

Dumbledore nodded, abet a tad shakily. "So Mister Alex, what is your choice?" he asked quietly, as he uncorked the bottle.

Alex shrugged. It wasn't like it was going to make a difference anyways. Nevertheless, he shuddered lightly as he felt a goopy liquid trickle down his throat. God, he _hated_ potions. Truth potions especially.

"What is your name?"

Alex blinked wildly. Name? He had many names. "Alex Mortimer," he said finally, his voice monotone. He saw Dumbledore exchange a glance with Snape.

"Are you Voldemort's heir?"

"Yes."

"Is he your father?"

Alex paused. "Yes."

Snape noticed the boy's momentarily lapse in thought. "Your father by blood?" he insisted.

Alex hesitated, before the truth serum forced him to speak. "Y-No."

"Explain yourself boy," snapped Snape. "You are making no sense."

"He was a distant relative," said Alex slowly. "However, by making me his heir, he bound me to him as his blood son."

Dumbledore's eyes grew large at the revelation. With Voldemort's death, the boy had become Lord Slytherin in the name of magic. But...if the boy was originally only a distant  
relative, what caused Voldemort to bring him under his wing. Tom had always been a jealous child. And for someone else to even be _distantly_ related Salazar Slytherin himself, would have made Tom jealous beyond belief. But...if that was the case, why hadn't Voldemort killed the boy? Dumbledore sighed softly. 'Alex Mortimer, you are an enigma' he concluded wistfully.

"Why did he make you his heir?" questioned Snape, voicing Dumbledore's question aloud. Obviously the ex-spy had come to the same conclusion as his mentor.

"I don't know."

Snape paused for a second. "Are you pureblood, boy?"

"Yes."

"Which family do you descend from?"

"Slytherin," Alex replied promptly.

Snape's eyebrow twitched in annoyance. "I meant your other side of the family," he spat.

He paused. "Gryffindor."

Dumbledore's breath escaped in a loud hiss, as he exchanged a worried glance with Severus. A double heir. Bloody hell. What was the world coming to now? Such powerful lineages were not suppose to mix! A shiver went up his spine at the thought. Was the boy the rightful heir to both Slytherin _and_ Gryffindor...

"Explain yourself," ordered Snape, "The Gryffindor family died out centuries ago."

Alex's eyebrow twitched in annoyance. "Correct, the main Gryffindor line _is_ dead. But not the bastard lines."

Snape's eyes drifted towards the headmaster for confirmation. To his utter surprise, Dumbledore was staring at the boy with a flicker of awe and...recognition.

"Bastard lines you say," said Dumbledore softly, as he leaned forward. "As I have discovered, there is only one living family who possesses Gryffindor blood." He paused for a  
second as he met the boy's blank emerald green eyes. "Are you..." he swallowed, "Are you a Potter?"

Silence descended upon the room, as the boy visibly struggled against the effects of the potion. "I...won't...I...I..." Dumbledore watched with distinct horror as blood leaked out of the corner of the boy's mouth.

Alex bit his tongue furiously to prevent himself from speaking. He couldn't go back; he won't! He was no longer a Potter! He was Alex Mortimer, heir to the Dark Lord. And if anything, he would rather _die_ then return back to his parents. A slow smile drifted across his face. Death...soon...

The last thing he heard before darkness claimed him, was Dumbledore's panicked voice and a scared woman's. Alex smiled, as he left...

* * *

Note: Please check out my ShortForm. The link is on my profile. Thank you!


	2. Awakening

**Sullen Fate**

**By: xxlostdreamerxz**

Disclaimer: No, I do not own HP.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Awakening**

_Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that. Hate multiplies hate, violence multiplies violence, and toughness multiplies toughness in a descending spiral of destruction...The chain reaction of evil - hate begetting hate, wars producing more wars - must be broken, or we shall be plunged into the dark abyss of annihilation.  
- King  
_

* * *

Dumbledore watched Madam Pomfrey cast an array of healing charms on the "poor dear." A wry smile grew upon his lips as he took in the irony of the situation. The boy was _the_ heir of one of the darkest lords in history. The boy had been raised as nothing more than a killing machine. He snorted once again.

'Poor dear, indeed.'

Dumbledore's eyes darkened as he took in the dark stains of blood on the boy's shirt. It had a close call. _Too_ close for his liking. According to Poppy, Alex had tried (and nearly succeeded) in biting his tongue completely off. And with a truth serum floating in the boy's veins, the power of healing charms and potions were reduced to a frightening degree.

The boy had almost _died._ And this time it _was_ his fault. Dumbledore felt a flicker of self-disgust as he reevaluated his past actions. The war was over; Voldemort was dead; the wizarding world was at peace once again. Was there truly a point to question the boy about his past? Especially so soon in the game? The boy had just lost his _father;_ the boy was _broken_ already. It was cruel, inhumane perhaps to ask so much of a child.

_"You know it might surprise you to know how much you remind me of the Dark Lord." _

The headmaster shivered. No, he was _nothing_ like Voldemort. _Nothing._ Dumbledore closed his eyes painfully as he recalled the bright, trusting faces of his past protégés. They had _trusted_ him; they had sworn their lives to him...and he'd sent them to their death. A single silver tear dripped down his face as the memories attacked him with vengeance. So many dead, so many...

_"There are innocents on both sides of the war, Dumbledore. Your so called 'protection' only extends to those who support your beliefs." _

Shamefully, Dumbledore knew that it was the truth. There were truly no winners in a war; there was too much death, too much pain, for any one side to truly win. But...he _had_ to try. He _knew_ what life would have been like had he allowed Voldemort to win. The Muggles, Muggleborns, and even Half-bloods would most likely be enslaved, forced to serve their superiors - the purebloods. And, death or no, Dumbledore refused to allow such a thing to happen.

Yes, that was it. That was what he was fighting for: _Freedom._

The headmaster took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Yes, that was it. He and his followers were liberators. They protected the weak; they were heroes; they fought for the _future._ Dumbledore's eyes cleared up, as he found his purpose once again. He couldn't afford to doubt himself. Not now, not ever. He was old now, too old, and the war had scrambled his brains. But, he had lost so much...

Dull blue eyes stared blankly at the wall. His family, friends, and companions, were all dead. Dumbledore stiffened as memories assaulted his frail grasp of reality. He saw them all again; his little Silvia giving her a toothy grin; his wife standing next to him...

...before the bittersweet taste of reality torn him away. Dumbledore's closed his eyes painfully as if the action would grant him solace. They were dead because of his carelessness. They were dead because he hadn't been strong enough to protect them.

"Albus? Are you alright?"

Dumbledore flinched, before quickly plastering a smile upon his face. "Fine, Poppy. But how is he?" he asked quietly nodding towards the Dark Heir. "Will he be..."

"Yes, he'll fine. He will be up and about by this afternoon," Madam Pomfrey answered briskly, though her hands shook slightly. "I have cast a diagnostic charm that will alert you as well as me when he begins to awaken."

The headmaster paused for a second before nodding. "Yes, well, I suppose everything is in order then," he said evenly, as he gave Madam Pomfrey another smile. "I have a meeting with the Order right now, so if you need anything you know what to do."

Madam Pomfrey rolled her eyes. _Honestly, he doesn't have to remind me every time..._

* * *

**Order of the Phoenix: Dumbledore's Office**

It was here, at a quarter to eleven, that the famed Order of the Phoenix assembled for a quick briefing about the Final Battle, as it was now referred to as. Bright, cheerful flames danced about in the furnace, welcoming each witch and wizard as they flooed in from their homes. The office, which had once been so desolate and cold during the war, now sparkled with a sort of inner light.

Dumbledore watched as each of his subordinates flooed in with a sad smile on his face. _So many dead,_ he thought grimly. Of the original Order, only twenty families had survived the war intact. He had, during his time in office, seen many of his members throw themselves in an almost suicidal fashion into the war. These particular members had wanted revenge for their departed loved ones; however, their efforts were futile - most of them died within a matter of months after they decided to go on rampage.

Even the most skilled dueler could not last long when outnumbered. His eyes closed in pain. However, with the growing number of Death Eaters, they simply _wasn't_ a choice. They _had_ to fight. Dumbledore shook his head slightly, as he met his subordinate's curious eyes. Now was not the time to dwell on the past...

"As you are all undoubtedly aware, two days ago Lord Voldemort met his doom at the hands of our own Nate Potter," Dumbledore stated evenly, as proud smile grew upon his face. "Even despite the odds, young Nate shot a barrage of curses and managed to hit Voldemort with a soul-shattering curse."

There was a short pause as the Order stared at Dumbledore with varying amount of disbelief.

"That's preposterous!" An auburn haired man declared as he stared at Dumbledore with a mix of pure disgust and awe. "That spell is classified as _Dark_ magic. And You-Know-Who is a _Dark Lord_ for heaven's sake!" the man said with mounting frustration. "Don't you think he would have taken steps against such a spell?"

Murmurs of agreement echoed about the office.

Dumbledore's smile widened. "No, that is where you are wrong," he said brightly. "The soul-shattering curse is not a form of Dark magic, instead it is classified as ambient magic." A sea of confused faces met his. Dumbledore sighed once again. "Ambient magic can be categorized as gray magic, if you will. Such magic is not dark because it does not feel off of emotions such as anger, pain, or disgust; instead, it is all based on intent."

"But it's like the Dementor's kiss!" a woman protested. "How could such a spell _not_ be dark."

The headmaster shook his head. "The Dementor's kiss is different because after death, the soul is trapped with the creature for all of eternity," he clarified, as a slow shiver ran up his spine. "It is said that souls within the Dementor shall be forced to suffer and watch all the evils that occur in the world. They are forced to face all their own horrible memories as well as any new soul the Dementor eats up." Dumbledore took a deep breath. "The soul-shattering curse on the other hand, does not have such an effect. It merely shatters the soul into pieces and forces it to travel to the afterlife."

The auburn man raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Why would it matter if it _was_ ambient magic? It doesn't matter what kind of magic it was since You-Know-Who would have undoubtedly learned about it anyways, right?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in amusement. "Wrong again," he said lightly, as he gave the man a small smile. "Voldemort as well as I, for the matter of fact, are Lords of magic. We were given at birth a enormous amount of power to wield throughout our life. In a way we _are_ power, we _are_ magic, but regardless of our strength we were still human. Ultimately it came down to choice - we could commit ourselves to the Light or to the Darkness." Dumbledore sighed. "I chose Light magic and because of that I am unable to perform any Dark Magic whatsoever. And Voldemort is the same; as a Dark Lord, he is unable to perform any Light magic at all. And of course, ambient magic is considered as Light magic; hence, I know for a fact that Voldemort could not have adequately prepared himself for such an attack."

The Order members nodded in understanding.

"Therefore, I would have to conclude that Voldemort has been vanquished once and for all," he said solemnly, though his sparkling blue eyes belied his joy and relief. "Our efforts and sacrifices have finally paid off. No more shall the darkness reign unchecked over our world. No more shall the powerful prey upon the week and the innocent." The headmaster's lips widened into a full smile. "We have done it! We have regained our society back from our tormentors! We are now...free.

A loud roar of approval met the headmaster's words as the Order members alternatively gave each other hearty pats on the back. It had taken quite awhile for the news to sink in, and even yet some member still couldn't seem come to terms with it. But then again it wasn't everyday that You-Know-Who, the o' so powerful Dark Lord who had made his as well as everyone's life a living hell during the past few years, was killed by a 4th year.

The headmaster watched with a carefully crafted neutral expression as his Order celebrated gleefully about at the news. And yes, it was good news, he admitted. However, he had certainly hoped that someone perhaps would notice that he had left out one particularly important fact.

But alas, tis' a futile attempt.

His Order's sprits were too high. They had suffered so much indeed and perhaps, they needed a little rest. Perhaps now was not the best of times to inform them that the _Dark Heir_ of all people was lying in the hospital wing.

Dumbledore winced, as an image of his Order lynching the poor lad in his sleep. 'No indeed.'

* * *

**Dreamscape: (10 Years Old)**

"How in the name of Circe are you _ever_ going to face them?" demanded Voldemort, through clenched teeth. "Information gathering is a _basic_ mundane task. It is nothing complicated. Nothing _painful_," he emphasized, giving Alex the evil eye which the boy skillfully ignored. "And hence, reading it shouldn't be that much harder, correct?"

Young Alex glared back grumpily. "Yes, but it's _boring."_ He crossed his arms stubbornly and gave the image of a sullen teen. "I don't understand what's the point of learning all these random facts about our enemy. It's useless and _stupid."_

Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

"I mean...when would I ever need to know that Dumbledore is a lemon drop fanatic! Or that he has a ungodly obsession with socks, especially those that are fitted with miniature pockets!" demanded Alex.

"When we're invading Hogwarts, of course," snapped Voldemort, as he met the boy's challenging glaze. "I have evidence in fact that the passwords to Dumbledore's office is based upon his favorite sweets. Licorice wands, blood pops, and other things," he said dismissively, as if talking about candy was taboo for a Dark Lord. (And it is). "But of all things, according to surveillance, his passwords always resort back to their customary 'Lemon Drops' every other week."

Alex blinked in surprise. "Candy?" he repeated dumbly. "The great Light wizard Dumbledore's passwords are based upon _candy!"_

"Yes."

Alex fell back against his chair. "Fine, fine," he grumbled, as he met his father's triumphed glaze. "I'll memorize the entire list of Dumbledore's favorite candy," he finished reluctantly.

"And his socks."

The boy frowned. "No. There is no way in the name of hell that I'd memorize that twelve page list of all Dumbledore's socks. The candy idea might have merit, but _this_ is utterly pointless and cruel."

Voldemort snorted. "Then, you'd be surprise to find that those miniature pockets in his socks is where Dumbledore selectively places his portkeys," he explained, purposely ignoring his heir's disbelieving snickers. "Haven't you ever wondered why the old fool wears such flamboyant socks?" he questioned.

Alex shook his head in denial. "I thought he was nutters," he complained. "And dressing weirdly is what crazy senile _old_ people do." He gave his father a pointed glaze. "It's a custom, isn't it?"

"Ye-No," hissed Voldemort, as he realized the double meaning in his heir's words. His ruby red eyes narrowed darkly. "I am _nothing_ like Dumbledore," he stated harshly. "Nor do I dress like him," he said in an afterthought, as he glanced down at his inky black robes. "My robes are made befitting to a Lord of my evil status," he said arrogantly. "Finest spider-spun silk in the country, silver thread from the elves, and..." he babbled, determined to emphasize the difference between _his_ stylish robes versus Dumbledore's gaudy ones. After a few more minutes of rambling and curses, Voldemort concluded that he was "nothing like the old fool."

Alex rose a taunting brow. "No, you are not," he said casually, as he gave his father a once over. "Though now, thanks to your becoming speech, I can conclude that you are more like a Malfoy then anything else. Or perhaps, you can say you are the mirror _evil_ image of Dumbledore..."

"Cruc-"

"Alright, alright! I take it back!" cried Alex, as he threw his arms mockingly over his head. "O' Lord Voldemort the Great, I, your evilest minion apologize profusely for stepping out of line! Please let me kiss your robes! Let me slobber over your leather boots! Let me..."

"Silencio," hissed Voldemort, as a red jet of light slammed into the boy's mouth. Bloody Hell, what in the name of all that is evil had he _ever_ done to deserve this...torture? Yes, he knew he wasn't a nice guy. But mother Circe! What in the world was he thinking when he picked this little snot-nosed loud brat as his heir? After permanently tying the boy to his bloodline, Voldemort was now unable to cast any..._deadly_ spells towards his heir. After all, if he did...well, at best they'd do nothing but reflect back at him.

Once again, Voldemort found himself cursing his past idol and ancestor Salazar Slytherin. Why had that bloody fool set up that god-damn curse? One where a Lord cannot harm or kill his own heir? Well, not that he _was_ planning on killing the lad, but there were times when he'd dream for nothing more than to Crucio the lad - just for a second...one heavenly second.

Poke.

Voldemort's eye twitched in annoyance, as he met Alex's golden brown eyes. "Stop it," he commanded, prodding the boy away with his foot.

Poke.

"Look brat, leave me alone for a few minutes and I will remove the spell," the Dark Lord snarled through clenched teeth, as he slowly stacked the pieces of parchment.

Poke.

Voldemort lost it. Grabbing his wand, he uttered a quick incantation that made the boy fly up from his seat towards him and halted a few inches away from him. "Do Not Push Me, brat," he hissed, emphasizing each and every word as he glared evilly into his heir's eyes.

Alex gave him a toothy grin and pointed at his mouth.

The Dark Lord sighed hopelessly. "Finite Incantatem," he grumbled, pointing his wand towards his heir. It was impossible to stay mad at the boy too long. God forbid, if it didn't know any better, he would have sworn that he'd grown fond of the boy.

A loud _eep'_ and the boy tumbled back onto the ground and landed in a half crouch, half sprawl. Alex's eyes lit up in amusement as he met his father's weary ones. "I take it you didn't like my Death Eater demonstration?"

Voldemort glared.

Feeling prudent to escape punishment, Alex hastily retreated to a safe topic. "So what were you saying about Dumbledore's socks earlier?" he tried.

Voldemort gave Alex a knowing glance. "As I was saying," he drawled, "Dumbledore's socks are so flamboyant so that he would know which one to wear depending upon the occasion. Each one of his socks are equipped with a portkey to a different location. The details of which sock leads to which location is stated in this report," he stated, as he tossed a bundle of parchments to his heir.

There was a short uncomfortable silence.

"Bloody hell...you're _paranoid!"_ declared Alex. "There is no way Dumbledore would do something so..."

"Crazy?" prodded Voldemort, as he gave Alex a dark look. "Look brat, we are in a war right now and the only way to survive is to find out all the weaknesses and strengths of our enemy."

"But..."

"I had my suspicions at first, but I demanded that my Death Eaters bring me more proof. And alas, one of them managed to capture one of Dumbledore's famed socks and discover his password (lemon drops). The portkey transported us to a nearby port in Newcastle, in the home of Dumbledore's wayward brother." Voldemort sneered darkly. "And, fortunately for him, the man was not home. But nonetheless, we destroyed and raided the entire village."

"...socks," Alex finished weakly.

Voldemort shook his head and rose from his desk. "I want you to memorize everything in there about Dumbledore and the entire Hogwarts staff. It does not matter how trivial the information appears to be, but you _will_ finish by noon tomorrow."

"What! You've got to be..."

The Dark Lord turned away from his heir. "Just do it Alex," he said sternly, as his voice wavered uncertainly. "Remember to keep your allies close but your enemy even closer." And what those words, Voldemort spun around and left one utterly confused Alex Mortimer staring dumbly at the door.

* * *

**End of Dream**

* * *

Alex's mind wavered uncertainly as he awoke from sleep. Had it all been a dream? His father's death, his capture, his so-called interrogation? Alex frowned as he tentatively reached out with his magic and surveyed the area. A soft yet gentle yellow haze covered his form, Alex frowned lightly and gave the magic a light prod. The haze darkened slightly, as if sensing the magic.

A alarm and tracing spell, he concluded as he quickly sucked his magic back in. One based upon magic use or health levels. The spell would let out a horrendous scream the moment he either physically woke up or when he used his magic. Alex cursed softly, as his hope drifted away.

So it wasn't a dream.

It had only been...yesterday when his father had been killed, him captured and subjected to questioning. Alex quickly replayed the memory as he reevaluated his actions. He'd been so stupid. So utterly pathetically _stupid._ Though in the light of his father's death, he couldn't really be blamed for making such a mistake.

He should have answered in Parseltongue.

Or some other language perhaps. Though, that might not have worked seeing as how Dumbledore is fluent is many languages just as well. Ah...so Parseltongue was he only weapon against any truth potion. Alex cursed himself for his stupidity once again. Now...unless he knew better, Dumbledore probably suspected that he was related to some degree to the Potters.

Curse them.

Alex's golden brown eyes darkened with hate at the mention of his biological parents. He had given up upon them a long time ago. He had needed them once upon a time when he was a child. How he had wanted...desired nothing more than a few words of praise. He had wanted to be acknowledged, to be loved for who he was.

A self-deprecating smile grew upon his face. But alas, should Dumbledore or the Potters discover his true heritage, it would change nothing. He was no longer a child. He was a man now. He could see beyond their frivolities and see them as the worthless beings that they were. He could see how fake, how meaningless it was to live and be like them.

But...he still needed _him._ The Dark Lord. His father, his mentor, his best friend.

'I'll bring him back,' he vowed, as his golden brown eyes gleamed with determination. 'You hear that, father? I'm going bring you back and kick you in the ass for what you're going to put me through.'

A slow smile grew upon his face as the beginnings of an idea began to form. Yes...that would work well wouldn't it? This _was _Hogwarts of all places. The paradise of lost or hidden knowledge. Alex's smile grew.

_"Keep your allies close, but your enemies even closer..." _

Alex grinned mentally. Within a matter of minutes, he flared his magic out in one quick violent burst and heard, more than felt, the yellow haze shatter and began to scream. With care, Alex casually set himself back against his pillows and waited patiently for the headmaster and his hoard of followers to come trampling down into the hospital wing.

"Let the games begin."

* * *

A/N: Please check out my ShortForm. I'd REALLY, REALLY appreciate the help.


	3. Demands

**Sullen Fate**

**By: **xxlostdreamerxz

**Disclaimer;** No, I do not own HP.

* * *

**Chapter 3: Demands**

"Golly, what's one to do when the sky comes a' falling?"**  
**

* * *

The Order meeting slowly came to a close as weepy witches and rowdy wizards gratefully babbled their thanks and praise to an understanding Headmaster before departing the office by Floor. A sad glint flashed across Dumbledore's eyes as he returned the thanks and sincerely wished his fellow members out. This was it - the end of the Order of the Phoenix. The war against Voldemort was over. There was no longer a need for such rebellious vigilantes group to exist any longer. 

Or was there?

Voldemort might have been defeated; however, there was always a chance that another Dark Lord would raise in his place. A tired wry smile grew upon Dumbledore's face. 'Would the world ever truly know the meaning of peace?' he thought sadly. 'Shall every generation have to suffer because of one man's ambition? Or another's faults?' He shook his head as he wallowed in his pain.

"Albus? Are you alright?" questioned Lily, as she placed a worried hand upon Dumbledore's sleeve. When the man failed to respond, she asked with mounting worry, "Are you sick? Do you need a med-witch?

Dumbledore shook his head and pulled himself out of his trance. "No, Lily. I'm fine," he said gently, as he beckoned the Potters to take a seat. "I was…just contemplating the past."

James nodded, as he took a seat to the right of Lily. Reaching over he gave his wife's hand a gentle comforting squeeze, with which she returned. "I understand, Albus," he said quietly. "The war has stolen a lot from us. All of us."

The headmaster gave James a pitying glance. "Especially from your family," he said softly. "You and Lily sacrificed very much to raise and guide young Nate. He has become something beyond understanding; he is as pure as the sun; he is…Light." Dumbledore gave them a faint smile. "You have been great parents."

Lily flushed with embarrassment. "Thank you, Albus. Though, I have to admit, our son would not have been able to reach his full potential had it not been for your guidance. Nate's success is the result of _all_ of our influences."

"Very well said," stated Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling with pride. "But we must not forget how much your late son's tragic…departure influenced young Nate. The boy loved his brother and it was this love that allowed him to defeat Voldemort."

A short awkward silence permeated the room, as the elder Potters shifted uncomfortably. "Yes…Harry," James finally said. "Nate idolized his older brother; Harry was everything to him…"

Dumbledore's eyes flickered with sadness.

Lily chewed her lip nervously, as she carefully phrased her next words. "However, there are times when I'm…afraid for him, Albus," she admitted softly. "Nate looks up to Harry's memory far too much. It is not healthy. Make no mistake, I believe that Harry was a good child…but there were times when his behavior was far from complimentary." A steely glint hardened in her emerald green eyes. "And the last thing I want is for Nate to gain any of his brother's unsavory tastes."

As if noticing Dumbledore's incredulous expression, James gave the headmaster a hesitant smile and added, "Don't get us wrong, but we loved – no, love Harry with all our hearts," he corrected, stumbling slightly in his error. "We were horrified when we found out we'd lost our son that day during the Quidditch World Cup. He was only a child then…and he died." James raised his chocolate brown eyes and met Dumbledore's glance. "But unlike most parents, we were not blinded by our love for him. We saw him for who he was – a…bothersome _needy_ child craving attention. Harry simply wasn't anything _special_; he was not the 'Chosen One;' he would never be able to rise up and achieve anything out of the ordinary."

His wife gave him a nod of approval and continued, "And unlike Harry, Nate is _special_; he is different than everyone else in our world." A proud, loving smile grew upon her face. "He is a _hero_; he is the 'Chosen One''…and the last thing I'd want him to do is try to be like his brother…like a '_nobody'_."

"What are you s-"Dumbledore paused mid-speech as his office erupted with noise. A trickle of trepidation trailed down his back while his mind screamed out denials. But even then, he knew the truth.

The Dark Heir had shattered the magical binds.

The Dark Heir was _free._

"James, Lily," Dumbledore stated urgently, turning to face his two subordinates. "There is a...sensitive crisis that I need help with," he said quickly. "However, I cannot risk allowing _anyone_ to find out about it." A flicker of annoyance flashed across his mind as he watched the Potters swell up with pride at his words.

"What do you need Albus?" prompted Lily, as she tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "We'd help you with anything in a heartbeat."

The headmaster gave her a curt nod. "Yes, I know," he stated, giving her a warm smile. "But for this mission, I require nothing more then your word that you'd keep your silence."

Lily blinked. "Albus, you should know us better then that," she accused. "We wouldn't ever reveal any Order information to Death Eaters."

There was a short silence, as the headmaster weighed his options. By dismissing the Potters, he was fairly certain that the pair would somehow take it as an insult. And Nate Potter, most certainly, wouldn't be pleased should his mentor treat his parents with such disdain. His sapphire blue eyes evaluated the couple before him. James had his jaw set in determination, looking as if someone had jabbed at his over-bloated pride one too many times. Lily on the other hand was watching him with sharp, calculating emerald green eyes. A sense of frustration rose in his chest.

He didn't have _time_ for this. The Dark Heir was free and _alive._ Dumbledore's eyes darkened with fear, as he recalled the cold smile and not-so-there expression in the boy's eyes. Voldemort's death had hit the boy _hard._ He dearly hoped that the boy was not about to embark upon some last-ditch suicidal attempt at revenge...

Dumbledore chewed his lip worried. "Forgive me Lily, James," he said curtly, "Please follow me." With his midnight blue robes billowing out behind him, he quickly made his way down his spiraled staircase with a pair of grinning Potters in his wake.

'_I'm getting too old for this...'_

* * *

**Hospital Wing**

* * *

"Wands out," ordered Dumbledore, they reached the massive oak doors of the Hospital Wing. A cold sweat dripped down his neck as images of the imminent battle teased his mind. He knew without a doubt that the boy would fight even more aggressively then before. He had seen eyes like the boy's before; those eyes - cold, tired, bitter - belonged to someone who'd lost the will to live. These wizards were always the most deadly and unpredictable. Dumbledore took a deep breath and slammed open the door and dove into an automatic roll... 

Only to find...nothing. The hospital wing was not covered in blood and bits of flesh nor did a bunch of curses suddenly implode upon them.

Oh no, not at all.

The hospital was as clean and immaculate as usual; the clean white walls sparkled as the light from the upper windows shone down upon them. The small hospital colts were still in position and, when he looked carefully, he could spy the Dark Heir's lumpy form lying frozen and dead to the world.

"Lily? James_? Albus_? Merlin, are you mad?"

Dumbledore winced softly, rising stiffly to his feet. "Poppy," he greeted cheerfully, ignoring the nurse's incredulous expression. "It is amazing, of course, what a quick dive could do to jolt ones memories," he said brightly.

There was a short silence, as Pomfrey gave Dumbledore a once over.

Madam Pomfrey's eyes narrowed. "Albus, please, do take a seat," she said in clipped tones, as she motioned to the bed to her left. "_Sit, for Merlins sake!_ You two as well," she ordered, nodding towards the two suddenly weary Potters.

"Now Poppy, don't be hasty..."

Shushing the trio, Pomfrey drew her wand and pointed it at the three of them. _"Sit down_" she said in her sternest tone, watching with satisfaction as her patients instantly clamped their mouth's shut and did as they were told. Now, circling them like a hawk, Pomfrey began casting an arry of diagnostic charms.

"Poppy, please," begged Albus, after one particularly violent jab to the ribs. "Please...tell," he grunted, as Madam Pomfrey gave him another jab. "...me if you heard the alarm go off in here."

Madam Pomfrey shook her head. "You mean for your...guest?" she said, curling her lips in disgust. "No, not at all. The boy hasn't even stirred at all since you brought him here." She gave him a tight smile. "Merlin knows, the boy might be dead already for all we know."

Dumbledore's expression grew worried. "_Dead!"_

"No, unfortunately not. The boy isn't at risk of contracting anything relatively dangerous." With a slight frown, she raised her wand and began jabbing at Dumbledore's temple. "Though, I have to admit, that after _that_ episode, I couldn't help but wonder if the war has addled up your brains," she continued relentlessly. "I mean, honestly, bringing that _thing_ into _my_ ward! Have you lost your wits my dear man!"

Dumbledore gave her a small smile. "I should hope not, Poppy." He winced again. "Though...if you insist upon prodding me so hard, what's left of my sanity might be destroyed."

She huffed grumpily, before turning away from him so as to deliver the same treatment to the Potters. Though, in Dumbledore's opinion, her treatment seemed to be a bit more...violent if James' hurt expression was anything to go by.

"Albus...what," James hissed in pain as Pomfrey's elbow accidentally slammed into his stomach. "...what _thing_ did you bring to Hogwarts?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "That's a secret," he said conspiringly, his sapphire blue eyes sparkling with mirth. "You'll have to find out on your own."

James pouted. "Drats."

"But Albus, if it's suppose to be important wouldn't you need help guarding it?" tried Lily, giving the headmaster her best smile, which promptly disappeared at Dumbledore's next words."

"That is very thoughtful of you," he said calmly. "But it's unnecessary. I have already set up all the necessary precautions."

She nodded sadly. "If you insist."

A yelp of pain resounded, as Pomfrey jammed a wicked looking needle into James arms.

"Bloody hell! What are you _doing?"_ he demanded.

Madam Pomfrey barely gave him a glance. "Testing your blood for chemicals or other deadly toxins," she said evenly. She gave James a once over before deeming him to be healthy and fit. And with that, she turned her glaze towards an uncomfortable Lily.

James sighed in relief.

Finally free from Madam Pomfrey's torture, James hastily made an escape to the other side of the hospital wing, ignoring unfortunately, Dumbledore's protests. Slipping off towards the bed in the furthest corner of the ward, James noticed a thick mop of messy black hair. Though he noted, the boy's face, which was mostly hidden by the sheets, were caked in mud and blood.

James swallowed. There was something about this boy...something familiar. Suddenly filled with trepidation, James hesitantly pulled back the sheets.

He didn't know why, but he _had_ to see the youth's face.

"James, sto-"

But it was too late. By then, James had already lightly lifted the sheets and revealed the boy's face. The young man was evidently fairly tan, had a strong chin, and high cheekbones. But what stopped James in his tracks and give a moan of despair and recognition, was the boy's half-opened emerald green eyes.

"Honey? Are you alright?" demanded Lily, as she marched up to her husband, who'd suddenly turned as pale as a ghost. "Hone-" A shocked gasp resounded about the room, as Lily stared in disbelief at the figure lying before them.

Gods, it couldn't be.

He...he was suppose to be _dead!_

Lily felt a well of emotions bubble up inside of her. _Fear? Disbelief? Joy?_ She shook her head once again as if to physically clear her mind. It couldn't be, it just...couldn't. Harry had _died_ that night at the Quidditch Match. Both Remus and Sirius had seem Voldemort cast the killing curse on Harry.

_They wouldn't lie to us. Not over something this important!_

Anger suddenly flared in her eyes. What if...what if by some miraculous event, the killing curse had missed Harry? What if her baby boy hadn't been harmed? She buried her face in her husbands shoulder as tear of anger and pain trickled down. Why hadn't he returned home? Harry hadn't even bothered to even write them a letter after all these years just to let them know that he was alive and well. Did he have no heart? Didn't he know how much pain he'd put our family under!

James found his voice first. "Albus..." he croaked out. "Who..."

Dumbledore remained silent.

A desperate glint appeared in James' eyes. "Tell me, _please_, Albus," he begged, clenching his hands into fists to stop the trembling. "Please...tell me...who is man is and why he looks so much like our...Harry."

The headmaster sighed softly as he stared at the pale and shaking couple. "I'm sorry," he said gently. "We still haven't discovered the boy's true identity." Dumbledore paused for a second as he picked his next words with care. "But, remember that resemblance aside, the boy is very powerful. It would not do for you to let your guard down."

The Potters nodded in agreement.

"I..." Lily took a deep breath and steadied her voice. "How long do you think it would take for you to find out his true identity?"

Dumbledore chewed on his lip thoughtfully. "I suppose a few weeks. Less, if the boy decides to cooperate."

Lily hesitated for a moment before voicing her concerns. "Albus, I...I don't know why, but I feel that a few weeks may be too long," she said in concern. "I think that we should...put our all into discovering the boy's true identity."

The headmaster frowned at her wording. "Lily, you can't mean -"

"Of course I can," she said stiffly, drawing herself to her full height. "We live in dangerous times Albus, and even though my Nate has defeated Voldemort, there is still much darkness out there. We need to...leave our options open for interrogating the boy."

This time, surprisingly, it was James that interrupted. "Gads Lils!" he exclaimed in horror. "You aren't suggesting that we should _torture_ the information out of him are you!"

Lily gave him a sidelong glance but softened her expression. "James, please, you have to understand. Dumbledore said the boy is dangerous...and with Voldemort's fall, undoubtedly such 'dangerous people' will be out trying to kill our Nate." Her lips twitched at the thought. "We need to be prepared."

James seemed less horrified, but protested all the same. "But Lils, he looks like...Har-"

She waved that aside. "This is war, James. We have to protect our own." Her emerald green eyes focused upon James'. "It doesn't matter what he looks like, acts, or feels. Our Harry died during the Quidditch match years ago. This boy...couldn't possibly be Harry."

Dumbledore choose to interrupt at this moment. "Nonetheless, Lily," he said, giving her a stern glare. "I will not allow anyone to be torture while I'm headmaster here."

"But..."

Madam Pomfrey suddenly moved in between them. "I will not tolerate fighting in the Hospital Wing," she said stiffly, as she gave Lily a hard poke in the stomach. Glaring at the three of them, she motioned towards the door. "Now, if you three will please take your leave..." her expression darkened, "...unless, you'd like to spend the night?" she threatened.

The three of them gulped as one. "No - t hat won't be necessary" "I'll got to do some paperwork" "I...Nate...I " they babbled, before hightailing out of the Hospital Wing.

After all, they'd been poked and prodded enough to last a lifetime.

As soon as, the footsteps disappeared. Madam Pomfrey slumped back into her chair and gave a tired sigh. At that moment, her form began to waver and turn transparent. Within seconds, a sweaty and tired Alex stood in the place where the nurse once was.

'Damn illusions,' he cursed mentally, as he quickly moved over to 'his' colt where a stupefied Madam lay. Alex quickly pulled the blankets over the woman's form. He needed to rest for a few minutes before renewing the illusion. And the _last_ thing that he needed was someone to walk in and find Madam Pomfrey out cold.

Illusions, especially cast wandlessly, typically used up a lot of magical power. Even more so when the user was not familiar with the spell. Alex shook his head sadly. Right before his father's attack on Voldemort, he'd taught him how to cast this illusion 'just in case something happened.' However, much to his dismay, Alex just hadn't ever gotten around to practicing it...

Until now.

A grim smile grew upon his face, as he glanced discreetly over at the collection of hair and blood that he'd collected from Dumbledore and the Potters. He had to thank his father for his training, Alex admitted ruefully. Without it, he was fairly sure he couldn't have pulled off his ruse as Madam Pomfrey. Nor could he sucessfully impersonate the correct...teachers and execute his plans.

Yes, Polyjuice would be a start...

And all those bloody bastards would deserve whatever he threw at them. Alex's eye twitched in annoyance as he recalled _Lily's_ desire to torture the information out of him and his father standing meekly behind. Apparently, even after more then a decade, the Potters haven't changed one bit.

And with that thought in mind, Alex renewed the illusion and reached towards the cabinet and downed a Pepper-up-potion. With that done, he moved briskly towards the entrance.

He had some research to do.


	4. Puzzles and Regrets

**Sullen Fate**

By: xxlostdreamerxz

Disclaimer; No, I do not own HP.

* * *

**Chapter 4: Puzzles and Regrets**

"Never fear shadows. They simply mean there is a light shinning somewhere nearby."

* * *

Hidden behind towers of books and parchment, a tall lanky boy with tired red-rimmed eyes was huddled into a tight shivering ball. His breathing quickened ever so slightly as yet another bookworm studied his 'hideaway' with interest before his numerous notice-me-not charms forced their eyes away. Resisting the urge to sigh, the boy leaned tiredly against the cool wall.

Ten hellish days since _it_ had happened.

His hazel eyes, which were normally warm and open, were dark with pain. It had been little more than a week since his world had crashed, burned, and ignited into a hell-worthy cascade of flames and pain. Nate bowed his head in shame as he recalled the 'final battle.'

Everything had gone according to plan.

Or so _he_ had said.

While Dumbledore and Voldemort dueled in a battle of otherworldly strength, he, the prophesized child was to find a chip in Voldemort's armor with his...talent and attack. Nate shook his head in self-disgust, as memory after memory of Dumbledore insisting that he join the war effort appeared in his mind.

_'I should have known better than to take his words at face value,'_ he thought sullenly. _'Nothing is ever so simple.'_

He had been so blind then.

So _naive. _

Nate's nails dug deeper into his skin as he forced himself to face his memories. It wasn't suppose to happen like this. Voldemort was _suppose _to be evil a sadistic murderer, a scoundrel! He was the bane of the wizarding world, the object of terror among millions. He had believed in Dumbledore words then. He had believed that a...monster like Voldemort wasn't suppose to exist, and that it was his duty to exterminate.

But...

Nate closed his eyes in pain. _'But, I hadn't expected him to be so...human.'_ He could still see, in his mind's eye, the Dark Heir running up towards their battlements with a crazed and fearful expression upon his face. Fear not for himself, but rather for his...father. A man, who had haunted Nate's nightmares since his brother had been ruthlessly murdered, that he had hated for a good part of his life. Nate shivered slightly as he recalled the horrified yet strangely...betrayed glint in the boy's golden brown eyes as his father was struck down by an purple jet of light.

Dead as a doornail.

Nate shook his head in shame. He hadn't understood then why the boy's reaction had affected him so profoundly. After all, the Dark Heir was a force of Evil was he not? The spawn of the Darkest Lord of a century and a Slytherin to boot. He should have felt joy and perhaps triumph at his so-called victory against Voldemort.

But he didn't...no couldn't.

After all, he was no hero, no knight in shinning armor. He was a murderer of the worse possible cloth - the kind that was cherish. Nate's eyes darkened with bitterness. Why couldn't anyone else see it? Why couldn't anyone see what he had done? See that he destroyed the lives of a boy and his father.

Nate sighed softly.

He didn't know why it bothered him, but it did. But the moment his curse had struck Voldemort straight in the chest, he had seen...strangely enough, the Dark Heir's eyes change colors. Bright, terse golden brown eyes shifted ever so slightly in the light until they melted into a gleaming pool of emerald green.

And then, he had froze. Froze in his tracks like a deer caught in headlights.

His parents, Dumbledore, and the rest of the Order had put it off as disbelief and shock, seeing as how after all it is not every day one gets one up on Voldemort.

But, that was a lie.

The boy, the Dark Heir's eyes reminded him of someone.

Those forest green orbs, filled with fierce anger and pain, resembled those of someone he'd long thought dead. Someone who he'd loved dearly for the first few years of his life, before _he_ had been snatched away - murdered ruthlessly by Voldemort.

Harry. His brother.

Harry James Potter.

Nate shook his head is mounting disbelief and hope. It couldn't possibly be him could it? His parents had told him ever since he was young that Voldemort had killed Harry at the Quidditch World Cup. He was told that Sirius and Remus had both seen the killing curse strike Harry full on the head.

So it couldn't be him right?

He chewed his lips thoughtfully. But those eyes, goddammit. He _knew_ those eyes. Over time his memory of Harry had slowly blurred until he could only bring up a few fuzzy images of what his brother had looked like. But there was one thing that he had never forgotten, nor would ever forget - Harry's eyes.

When he was younger he had always wondered why Harry's eyes was so_...different_ then everyone else's. Dad's eyes were always warm, sparkling with a hint of mischief. Mum's eyes were dark with compassion and purposeful. And Harry...whose eyes he'd inherited their Mum looked...sad. His emerald green eyes were always dark with an eternal sadness. He hadn't understood then, at the tender age of three, what was wrong with Harry. And even today, he did not know.

But if anything, he did know this.

He saw the same heartbreaking sadness and pain in the Dark Heir's eyes as he watched Voldemort's soul shattered. He had frozen then, not because of fear or pure elation...but because he _remembered_.

It had to be Harry.

It _had_ to.

And with a determined glint in his eyes, Nate pushed his way out of his refuge and removed his Notice-Me-Not-Charms. He didn't know how to explain it, but he knew somehow deep down that the Dark Heir and his long lost brother were somehow connected. They _had_ to be.

And with that said, he quickly marched his way out of the Library, his eyes flashing with determination. After everything the headmaster had put him through the past year, the man owned him the truth at the very least.

Nate lifted his chin in stubborn determination.

'One way or another...'

* * *

**Hospital Wing (Private Room)**

* * *

Groaning in despair, Alex allowed his head to fall with a heavy 'thunk' upon the thick tome he was reading. He'd been searching for _hours_ and have yet to come up with even a single bit of information. But then, he supposed, it _was_ Hogwarts - home to the bloody Light Lord and champion of Muggleborns; obviously, it would be lacking a bit in the Dark Arts department.

'If only I could go back,' he thought tiredly, as an image of his father's private library floated across his mind. With hundreds of tomes of Dark Arts and Lost Arts, Alex was positive that he'd be able to find a way to resurrect his father. But, much to his dismay, the Aurors had managed to draw out the location of their fortress from one of their Death Eater recruits (seeing as his father's secrecy spell ended the moment he disappeared). So now, he was fairly sure that their fortress was swarming with Aurors and Order members. 'And the last thing I want to do is accidentally tip them off about the more...secret rooms there," he thought grumpily.

Yes, it'd definitely be more prudent to wait out the storm.

Alex used his arm to cushion his head as he resumed his search. This tome, The Life of Lord Falen, detailed the life and history of one of history's greatest Dark Lords, after Slytherin of course. His father had mentioned, rather dryly, during their history lessons, that while Lord Falen had managed to develop a few theories regarding immortality, the man had died in a very pathetic accident well before he'd been able to test them out. Which then, in his father's eyes, marked him as a fool, abet a powerful fool.

And then, he had asked, quite curiously what these theories were.

_'Horcruxes,' Voldemort had said, after giving Alex a measuring glance. 'Horcruxes are the key to mind, body, and the soul.' And with those mysterious words, his father had left, leaving him staring in confusion._

Alex sighed, as he gingerly fingered his emerald necklace, his face scrunched up as he tried to recall the time he received his necklace.

_"A Horcrux is the word used for an object in which a person has concealed part of their soul," his father explained quietly. "You split your soul and hide part of it in an object outside the body. Then, even if one's body is attacked or destroyed, one cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged._

And after his little speech, his father had entrusted him with a Horcrux - one for him to guard and protect throughout his life. Alex leaned back against his chair as he stared down blankly at the emerald necklace.

It was all here - the clues that he needed to resurrect his father...but, Merlin, he just couldn't figure it out! He had just enough background information about Horcruxes to start his search; however, beyond that, he knew nothing. He didn't know how to construct a Horcrux nor how to awaken its soul shard.

Alex bit his lip in frustration.

'There _has_ to be some information in this bloody book!' he thought in annoyance. 'By Merlin! The man developed the theory of Horcruxes! Surely there's got to be _some_ clue in this book...'

With a dark frown and a determined glint in his emerald green eyes, he forced himself to resume his search. After all, he only a few more days left before his charade as Madam Pomfrey would come to an end. He had told Dumbledore, rather sternly, when he impersonated the med-witch, that the Dark Heir had fallen into a magical coma due to shock over his father's apparent death.

And Dumbledore, the bloody fool and advocate of the power of love, fell for it, head over heels.

_Bloody Idiot._

Alex sighed, as he scanned through the book once again.

'I'll find a way to bring you back, Father. I promise.'

* * *

**Headmaster's Office**

* * *

_Nicholas, _

_We caught the Dark Heir a few days ago and he is currently in our custody. I will elaborate upon the matter in the case this letter intercepted; however, I feel that there is something strange about the boy. And I would greatly appreciate it if you'd help me crack this mystery. _

_Regards,_

_Albus_

* * *

After penning the letter, Dumbledore rolled up the parchment and beckoned Fawkes over. "Deliver this to Nicolas, please," he said lightly, giving the phoenix a nice scratch behind the neck. "That's a good boy."

Fawkes cooed warmly before disappearing in a flash of fire.

Dumbledore sighed as he returned his attention back to his research. He honestly didn't know what it was, but even with the wizarding world at peace, he couldn't help but feel...anxious. At first he'd written it off as after-war-adrenaline, but Merlin, even now, days after the final battle, he still couldn't quell his unease.

Turning his attention back to the fire, Dumbledore chewed his lip thoughtfully as he contemplated the events that happened just days ago. Young Nate had defeated Voldemort just as the prophecy had predicted...

Or had he?

The prophecy roughly stated that "the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord" was "a boy of gold and emerald, with blood so slight, as second in line, of history's past legacy..." He had believed, then, that Nate was the prophecy child. After all, the Potters were the Heirs of Gryffindor and as the second child, Nate indeed fit the third prerequisite of the prophecy. However...the second prerequisite puzzled him. What could that damn seer have meant by "a boy of gold and emerald?"

Gold could be a symbolic representation of Nate's heart - one as pure and untarnished as gold. And green, wasn't that the shade of Harry's eyes? He had know ever since he'd first met the lad that Nate cherished and loved his brother above all. And after all, wasn't it his love for his brother that allowed him to battle and cast the killing blow upon Voldemort?

Or was it something else entirely?

The boy, the Dark Heir, had green eyes, Dumbledore recalled dimly. And during the final battle, he had _seen_ the boy's golden brown eyes shift into glittered emerald greens.

Had he been wrong? Was the Dark Lord truly not gone?

Dumbledore's eyes flashed with worry. The Dark Heir also, ironically enough, fit the parameters of the prophecy. As Voldemort's heir, young Alex was also "second in line of history's past legacy." Salazar Slytherin was praised and worshiped for his achievements in the field of magic as well as his benevolent work towards the pureblood community. It was merely a matter of opinion whether Slytherin was an essential player in history. But it couldn't be, could it? He had seen how devastated the boy was by his father's death.

And if anything, he was certain that the boy would never raise his wand against his father.

Dumbledore rubbed his temples in frustration, dimly wondering why his life was always so convoluted. Why oh _why_ couldn't the wizarding world just stay in one happy piece and leave him alone? He sighed in frustration at the sound of pounding footsteps climbing up the stairs.

'Who now?'

And, to his infinite dismay, one extremely angry and determined Nate Potter slammed into the room without even a hint of apology upon his face.

_'Why speak of the Devil.' _

"Why Mr. Potter," greeted Dumbledore, carefully masking his surprise, as he beckoned the boy towards the seat before him. "It is a pleasure to see you again. How have you been holding up?"

Nate gave the headmaster a glare, causing the older man to blink in surprise. "Fine," he said guardedly. "Not that you'd care."

Dumbledore looked taken aback, at the boy's snide comment. Ever since he'd met the boy, Nate had always been a respectful, abet rather quiet child. He had never heard the boy speak rudely against anyone before! He had believed the boy was a Hufflepuff through and through!

"I beg your pardon?" queered Dumbledore, after recovering from his shock.

Nate turned his head slowly and met Dumbledore's eyes. "You heard me, headmaster," he said quietly. "I won't waste my breath repeating it."

The headmaster was lost. "But Nate, what are - "

"The war is over, Headmaster," he said coldly, raising his voice over Dumbledore's protests. "And I want to know the truth. The _whole_ truth that you've kept from me all these years..."

Dumbledore, if possible, looked even more puzzled. "Nate, I have no id-"

"...in the pretence of it being 'for my own good'" he declared, tilting his chin up defiantly. Nate's lips trembled, as he tried to suppress his emotions. "I have done everything you've ordered me to do, _sir. _I've fought Death Eaters, garnered support from my fellow classmates, and even killed, no_, murdered_ Voldemort." Nate flinched slightly at the last statement, but nonetheless continued. "So don't you dare tell me I'm too young to know the truth."

"About?" questioned Dumbledore, trying to figure out what in the name of Merlin he was being accused of hiding.

Nate's glare grew stony. "About my brother, of course."

A soft hissed escaped Dumbledore's lips at the statement. _Harry._ Of course, everything these days seemed to revolve around about the long deceased boy. First the Dark Heir showed up, looking like an example replica of what Harry Potter would have resembled had he lived. Then, James and Lily had _seen_ the boy and had believed for a few seconds that the boy was indeed their lost child. And now, Nate was asking about his brother.

He couldn't help but feel a strange sense of deja-vu.

"What do you wish to know?" he asked evenly, forcing himself to return to the topic at hand.

Nate chewed on his lip for a moment. "Everything," he said softly. "I want to know everything about my brother." He raised his eyes to meet Dumbledore's serious glaze. "But first, I know that you have ordered my parents not to reveal anything about my brother, for some unknown reason" he added, as a scowl grew upon his face. "And I want you to revoke that order."

Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "What makes you think I would do such a thing?"

The boy crossed his arm defiantly. "Well, you _are_ Albus Dumbledore," he stated. "You are the unofficial leader of the Light side. It is only reasonable to assume that you're the reason why my parents go pale and clam up whenever I mention anything related to Harry."

A hint of pity entered Dumbledore's eyes.

"They always tell me that I 'shouldn't focus upon the past' so much and should instead work on tactics to defeat Voldemort," grumbled Nate. "They've taken down all the pictures we have of Harry!" he said, waving his arms agitatedly. "Whenever I go home for the holidays, I just can't help but feel like as if they're hiding the fact that I've ever had a brother before!"

Nate's eyes narrowed upon Dumbledore. "And I want to know _why,_ Headmaster. I want to know why you prevented my parents, two goodhearted heroes, from grieving and remembering my dead brother."

Dumbledore stared silently into the fire, waiting for Nate to finish his rant. "I will not lie to you, Nate, but I will not tell you the truth unless you are truly prepared," he said softly, watching the dancing flames with a hint of pain. "The truth is a harsh and cold as the Light. It'll tear apart ever deception and mask that you've ever encountered. It will shatter your trust and your perception of the world." Dumbledore met Nate's glittering hazel eyes. "It would destroy you."

Nate frowned as he puzzled over Dumbledore's words. "It doesn't matter," he said finally. "I have waited almost twelve years for this Headmaster. It doesn't matter what you reveal, what deception others have wove around me, because it is of the past and those individuals that have meddled have no bearings in my life." He paused for a second, before stating evenly. "I don't care what the consequences are, Headmaster. I want to know what happened to my brother."

The air was tense as Dumbledore considered his choices carefully. On one hand, Nate _was_ correct. The war was over and there was no point in hiding the truth about young Harry's death anymore. Theoretically, it didn't matter if Nate discovered James and Lily's treatment of Harry since with Voldemort gone, the Light side dominated. There was no reason to fear that Nate would estrange himself from the Light and fall to darkness due to his parent's betray, simply because there _was_ no one else to turn to.

And above all, it was the truth.

Dumbledore rubbed his temples in frustration. However, on the other hand, Harry was dead and nothing would bring him back. So there really was no reason to wake sleeping dogs. He should let the past stay buried, shouldn't he? Since after all, once Nate discovered the truth, Dumbledore was _positive_ that he'd turn against his parents.

Is it worth it? Truth over familial ties?

Dumbledore glanced over and met Nate's glittering eyes and sighed. Since young Nate was so determined to discover the truth, he figured that there was no way, really to stop the young Potter.

"Very well, Nate," he said softly. "But remember, it is you who choose to go this road."

Nate nodded. "Of course, now tell me _everything._"

Dumbledore sighed and began...

* * *

**Chapter 5 Preview: **Dumbledore tells Nate the truth about his parents (i.e. neglecting Harry)...etc. 


	5. Revelations

**Sullen Fate**

By: xxlostdreamerxz

Disclaimer; No, I do not own HP.

Note: Sorry the endings kinda crappy here, I ran out of time so I just made an ending so I could start to work on Darkly Treacherous. But all the same, enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 5: Revelations**

"How can I be condemned for the things I've done, if my intentions were good?" - Kamelot

* * *

**The Boys' Dorm**

* * *

The early rays of dawn shot through the window in a kaleidoscope of colors, illuminating the dorm with its brilliant light. It crept slowly across the room - past the piles of unwashed clothes, a few random textbooks - the light, that is, paused as it reached the corner of the room where a lone yellow and black bunk stood.

_'Even in the deepest dark, there is light. No matter how scarce or small.' _

Nate stared blankly up as his canvas and curtains slowly changed from a dull gray to a luminescent yellow as the light flowed into the room. A strange glint flickered across his eyes as he watched the sun rise and reinstate its power upon the world...

He had once believed, rather blindly, that the Light and its followers could do no wrong. Since after all, according to legends, the Light was pure and righteous; it held itself above the petty battles and emotions of mortals. It was, in essence, morality reincarnate. His lips twitched into a self-deprecating frown.

'All the clues and pieces were there,' Nate thought idly, his mind a spinning, whirling jumble of mad thoughts and memories. 'I shouldn't have allowed my feelings nor my loyalty to blind me from the truth.' He paused, eyes dark with emotion. 'I should have stood firm and faced it like a true Hufflepuff.'

When he'd been sorted five years ago, upon a night when even the brightest stars were obscured by clouds, he had been all but ready to burst out in tears of despair. After hearing about the numerous exploits of his parents and the infamous Marauders, he'd been all but ready to jump the bandwagon and go Gryffindor. And after another lecture about how 'Gryffindors could do no wrong' because they were 'infinitely more loyal, powerful, and brave than the rest of the other Houses combined,' Nate was all but ready to sacrifice a limb or two to get into the renowned House.

And imagine his surprise when he found out that he was...something else.

'Hmm...difficult, very difficult," the Sorting Hat had murmured as it sat snug about his slowly reddening ears. 'You have the bravery of a Gryffindor, a temper akin to a plotting Slytherin, and a brain worthy of a true Ravenclaw. But you choose not to utilize these talents of yours now do you?" The Hat paused for a second as it dug deeper into his memories. "You'd fight to protect your loved ones but you wouldn't fight on principle or in the name of your ambition. Or lack of, should I say?" The Hat stretched upward and chuckled lightly. "You're loyal above everything else, Mr. Potter. A right **Hufflepuff** you will be!"

Nate remembered sitting there, frozen upon the stool, as Professor McGonagall lifted the Sorting Hat off his head. This could not be happening. It had to be a dream, no, a nightmare! He could not be a Hufflepuff for Merlin's sake! He was the Chosen One, the son of two model Gryffindors. He couldn't belong in a House that he'd grown up knowing as - stupid, idiotic, and eccentric...

But then, he heard clapping.

The whole Hufflepuff house, as if sensing his fear and uncertainty, did their part to welcome him into their fold. They all stood, politely as can be, with smiles upon their faces as they shook hands and greeted him with...warmth. Nate recalled feeling slightly dumbstruck as he stared into the un-judging eyes of his fellow housemates. That had never happened to him before, not even with his parents.

His Mum and Dad had expectations for him - first he was to become a Gryffindor, then a Marauder, and finally a powerful wizard. It was overwhelming at times - the pressure that his parents placed upon his shoulders.

But the Hufflepuffs...just didn't expect anything out of him. He was merely a wizard, a companion, and possibly a friend.

Squaring his shoulders with determination, Nate slowly made his way towards the Hufflepuff table, pointedly ignoring the furious whispers that erupted from the staff table. Apparently, _both_ of his parents were not satisfied with his sorting and were determined to convince Dumbledore to allow a resorting. He smiled as a few of his housemates gave him supportive pats on the back.

_'We're in this together,'_ their eyes said warmly. _'We, Hufflepuffs, protect our own.'_

Nate had given his parents an apologetic glance, knowing that he had disappointed them. They had, after all, planned for him to be a hell-rising loyal Gryffindor who'd someday bring fame and glory to the Potter name.

_'But I can't, at least not the way you want me to,'_ he thought stubbornly. _'If you want glory, I'll bring it to you myself. My way.'_

With a self deprecating sigh, Nate jerked out of his thoughts and leaned back against the soft crimson pillows feeling the soft velvet give way beneath him. His chocolate brown eyes, now dark with sadness, returned to glazing blankly at the canopy - falling back into the dizzying world of his memories.

He had known even then that by accepting his sorting, he was, in essence, shying away from his parent's control. Nate had felt a sliver of embarrassed and guilt back then when he realized that this was _why_ he wanted to stay in Hufflepuff - the stereotyped house of idiots and misfits. He had wanted an out from the stressful relationship he shared with his parents and their friends...and when the sorting hat had offered Hufflepuff, he'd accepted.

_'I'm sorry I didn't notice, Harry,'_ he thought numbly, as another wave of guilt struck him. _'It was wrong of me to ignore the past. I should have noticed something was wrong with our family after all these years.'_ Nate shook his head in disgust. _'And you had it even worse than me,'_ he thought sadly. _'Even though Mum and Dad may have pressured me, they spoiled me rotten since they believed me to be the 'chosen one.' But you...you had no one to turn to.'_

Nate's eyes glazed slightly as a memory of his discussion with the Headmaster flashed across his mind.

* * *

**Flashback: Dumbledore's Office**

* * *

_"Well?" Nate demanded, crossing his arms in impatience as he shot Dumbledore his best glare. He had been studying Dumbledore closely for the past few minutes intent upon finding any sign of deception. "Are you going to tell me or not?"_

_There was another short pause, before Dumbledore inclined his head in agreement. "Very well, Mr. Potter," he said softly. "If that is what you truly want."_

_Nate nodded. _

_The Headmaster walked towards the corner of the room and pulled out a large sack of lemon drops, before trudging it towards his desk. At Nate's questioning look, Dumbledore elaborate, "I'll need every one of my wits to be awake if I am to tell you this tale."_

_Nate raised an eyebrow, but otherwise remained silent. After all, he was to finally unveil the truth behind his brother's mysterious past. And hopefully reveal that his...hypothesis about the Dark Heir was true._

_Dumbledore cleared his throat pointedly, as he motioned towards his pensive. "While it may be easier, and perhaps kinder, for me to allow you to access the memories of your brother's past, I believe it would be best for me to explain first." _

_"Alright," Nate agreed cautiously._

_Lowering his eyes, Dumbledore stared down blankly at the small red photo album that he kept of all Order members and their families. A flicker of pain crossed his normally bright and cheerful eyes. _

_"As you are aware, there was a prophecy that arose during Voldemort's reign - a few months before your birth," he began, looking tired and weary. "It told of a boy of gold and green that was the second in line to one of the greatest bloodlines of wizarding Europe. The boy was the prophesized defeater of the Dark Lord, the 'Chosen One' if you will." _

_Nate nodded, already familiar with the prophecy. _

_"The Order searched and scoured through all available historical documents for any mention of the 'great bloodline' and found to our surprise, that the Potters were the heirs of Godric Gryffindor." Dumbledore sighed softly at this point. "I informed your parents of the news and they were ecstatic. Lily was due to give birth in a couple of weeks and the mere thought that she and James had produced the means to save the wizarding world got to their heads."_

_"Wha-"_

_Dumbledore continued, overriding Nate's protests. "They began to obsess over your and your existence, even to the point of ignoring your brother." He paused slightly, trying to organize the mess of memories that attacked his mind. "I remember once, when I visited your family, seeing your brother huddled in the corner of the room watching you and your family interact. His eyes looked so old then - filled with a pain and sadness that a child shouldn't know."_

_There was a moment of shocked silence, as Nate processed the information. _

_"That's impossible!" Nate erupted, his eyes flaring defensively. "Mum and Dad wouldn't do that! You're lying!" The boy shifted forward in his chair and met Dumbledore's eyes. "There's no way you saw what you did," he declared. "Since if you did, why didn't you report it?"_

_Dumbledore sighed once again. "Because, I could not."_

_Nate's chocolate brown eyes narrowed. "Bullshit," he snapped, clenching his fist in anger. "If such abuse truly happened, nothing could have stopped you from telling the authorities. And even if you did not wish for it to become a public affair, you could have handled it quietly." He tilted his chin up stubbornly. "So please, drop the lies, and tell me the truth."_

_"I am not lying," Dumbledore stated calmly, meeting Nate's eyes. "You have to understand, Mr. Potter, that as a leader there are times when sacrifices are necessary." He plopped a lemon drop into his mouth, feeling slightly regenerated. "You were the Chosen One; the savior of the wizarding world that was destined to defeat Voldemort," he said quietly. "My main concern was to guide the Order of the Phoenix and train you."_

_Nate studied Dumbledore carefully. _

_"I made sure that your brother was not physically abused," he added gently, after an awkward pause. "However, there was not much more that I could do for him other than give him a few encouraging words and occasional presents whenever I visited." Dumbledore rubbed his temples tiredly. "I understand that I should have done much more for the young Harry, but we were at war and losing badly. It would have been detrimental for our side to split over such a trivial (in comparison) matter. And your parents were very well liked and powerful figures on our side; it would have been terrible for public moral should it be found that they'd neglected one of their children."_

_The boy chewed his lip thoughtfully, his chocolate brown eyes darkening. "I..." he paused, trying to regain his bearings. "I understand, but," Nate said softly. "My parents wouldn't have done something like this. It just isn't like them."_

_A flash of pity flickered across Dumbledore's face. "I understand that this is hard for you, but if you wish to see the truth, you need to look beyond your emotions," he explained, seeing the boy lower his head. "Your parents have raised you, taken care of you, loved you. It is understandable that you're loyal to them. I'd understand if you don't wish to continue this conversation," he added gently. "You can, if you so wish, continue to think of me as the perpetrator. I won't hold it against you."_

_Nate was quiet as he slowly processed Dumbledore's words. On one hand, he had a hard time believing that his parents had neglected his brother. They just didn't seem to be the type! During his childhood, his parents had would go to extraordinary lengths to ensure that he was happy. They would buy him toy, play stupid childish games with him, and makes his favorite dishes. And while yes, they had expectations of him (after all, which parents didn't?) they loved him. He sighed softly, as a memory of his elder brother's sad emerald green eyes resurfaced. But if his parents truly loved Harry, why had he been so sad? so lonely? _

_"Please continue," he stated, raising his eyes to meet Dumbledore's as a familiar stubborn fire burned. "I'll make my own decisions about the legitimacy of your words."_

_Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with pride. _

_"Very well, Mr. Potter," he said warmly, as he gave the boy a proud smile which Nate returned hesitantly. "As I was saying, your parents neglected your brother because he did not fit into the perfect future that they'd planned out for you. After all, you were the Chosen One - the future hero of the wizarding community - while your brother was nothing more than an ordinary wizard." _

_"So? What does that have to do with anything?"_

_"Everything." Dumbledore gave Nate a stern look. "With you, they were guaranteed to be remembered throughout history as the parents and guardians of the savior. While with young Harry, they considered him to be a liability. Take for example, what would mean for them if your brother turned out to be a squib? or very magically weak? As your parents, they were bound to get a lot of publicity - good and bad. With Harry, they couldn't be sure that their own reputations wouldn't be tarnished. Not to mention, they were probably worried that you would become too attached to your brother."_

_Nate gaped in disbelief. "Why would they be worried about_ that?!"

_"Since if your brother did turn out to be magically weak or deficient, he would be the weak point in your defense," Dumbledore explained. "They were worried that should Voldemort ever capture your brother, you'd abandon everything and initiate a suicide mission to rescue him." He paused for a moment, before adding, "Don't get me wrong, but your parents might have made the wrong choices, but they did it in hopes of obtaining a victory for the Light. You shouldn't hold it against them."_

_Nate's eyes narrowed at this point. "Perhaps," he said coolly, as a strange glint flared in his chocolate brown eyes. "But please, headmaster, do continue." _

_Dumbledore nodded. "This treatment continued well past Harry's 5th birthday until that fateful day at the Quidditch World Cup," he explained, noticing that Nate's lip was trembling. _

_"My birthday," he stated. _

_Dumbledore bowed his head in agreement. "Yes, that was the occasion," he said gently. "During the event your parents sent him down to buy some sweets; however, before young Harry was able to return, Death Eaters attacked." _

_Nate blinked in confusion. "Why wasn't he Portkeyed out like everyone else?"_

_There was a short silence before the Headmaster spoke, "When Harry was sent to buy sweets, your parents made him go by himself. So when the Death Eaters attacked, there was no one to defend him or Portkey him out." Dumbledore sighed softly. "Apparently one of the merchants, Mundungus Fletcher, gave Harry an invisibility cloak and told the boy to hide. However, once Voldemort arrived with Nagini in tow, Harry's position was discovered and Voldemort shot a Killing curse at him." _

_"Did anyone see the curse hit?" demanded Nate instantly. _

_"Yes," stated Dumbledore, with a sad smile. "Both Sirius and Remus stayed there long enough to see Voldemort's curse hit Harry. They said that they say young Harry's body fall back limp before they Portkeyed away."_

_A hint of desperation flickered across Nate's face. "But what about his body?" he demanded. "Mum and Dad said that he was never buried." His mouth dropped in shocked horror. "Don't tell me that they left him out to rot!"_

_Dumbledore shook his head. "No, they didn't. Harry's body, for some unknown reason, had never been recovered. Once we returned back to the Quidditch stadium, we searched high and low for Harry body; however, we found nothing. The body just...disappeared."_

_Nate's eyes sparkled with hope. "So could he be alive?"_

_"No," Dumbledore said firmly. "It's impossible. No one can survive the killing curse, especially not a five year old child. If there is a reason his body was not found, it was probably the work of Nagini or some random Death Eater."_

_Nate bowed his head, biting his lip in excitement. It didn't matter what Dumbledore thought! Harry was alive! Voldemort had no reason to take a corpse along with him. Nor did he believe that Nagini had a particular fetish for human flesh. "Thank you for your time, headmaster," he said, with a hint of respect. "It is rather refreshing to know the truth." _

_Dumbledore smiled as he waved Nate to the door, "Yes, it is," he said softly. "The truth sets us free."_

_A feral smile crossed Nate's face at those words. "Yes, it does."_

* * *

**End of Flashback**

* * *

Nate was roused from his thoughts as the tired half-awake mumbles of his roommates resonated about the once painfully quiet room. With a sad smile, he slowly pulled himself up to a sitting position before opening the curtains.

Bright golden light erupted before him, causing him to hastily cover his eyes. After a few moments of squinting, he managed to dig out his school robes and don them on with little trouble. A small smile crossed his face as he watched one of his mates, a round-faced brunette, tripped over his own two feet and fell headfirst towards the floor.

Nate sighed. _'Nice to know some things never change,'_ he thought, slightly amused. From the day he'd first met Neville Longbottom, he hadn't known what to expect. After all, the boy _had_ been held back three years, transferred houses, and was usually subject to ridiculous amounts of ridicule.

"Lo' Nev," he said quietly, watching the other boy's head jerk up in surprise. "You alright?"

A bright smile broke across Neville's face as he caught sight of Nate. From the day he was transferred to Hufflepuff, he and Nate had become fast friends. Their friendship, as some would say, was a strange one.

After all, it wasn't everyday the Chosen One became best friends with the Hogwart's Loner.

"Yes," Neville replied awkwardly, flushing a distinct shade of red, before picking himself up from the ground and dusting his robes. "I - I wasn't watching where I was going," he explained uncomfortably.

Nate nodded in understanding. "I know, I know," he said easily, digging under his bed for a pair of socks. "Don't worry bout' it."

The younger boy released a barely audible sigh of relief as he pulled himself to his feet. Even though they've been friends for the past two or so years, Neville couldn't help but fear that Nate would one day desert him like everyone else.

To his grandmother, he was nothing more than a disgrace to his family name. To the Gryffindor house, he was a worthless traitor. To the Slytherins he was but a mockery of pureblood pride, a blemish on their proud linage. They had, bit by bit, turned their backs to him; ignoring him; hating him in silence.

Neville's eyes glistened with unshed tears.

He had never been accepted, never been loved. He was a burden to them - a constant reminder of their failures or their weakness...

"Nev, you're bleeding," said Nate as he dug through his trunk for bandages, before tossing some towards a dazed looking Neville. "Here."

The older boy raised his hand and flinched when it came into contact with his nose. It was broken.

Again.

Apparently when he had tripped and fallen, he'd accidentally slammed his nose a tad too hard on the floor. Neville sighed softly. Great. It was time for another trip to Madam Pomfrey...

"Do you want me to accompany you there?" Nate asked, noting the consternation on his friend's face. After all these years, Madam Pomfrey had apparently grown tired of the clumsy boy's antics. While in Neville's first few years at Hogwarts, she had cheerfully patched him up without fail. However now...she had allowed her superior's opinions to color her perspective; Madam Pomfrey no longer acted as kind or gentle as before.

She was indifferent. Coldly indifferent to the lad.

"I...I" Neville gave Nate a helpless look. "I wouldn't...want to be a burden."

Nate sighed. "You're not, Nev." he said gently. "You're a friend; hell, probably the damnest best mate I've ever had." He grinned lightly. "And besides, I've been waiting for days to visit the ward. Rumors have been floating around about a mysterious patient or something."

Neville's eyes lit up with relief. "A patient?" he queered, happy to change the subject.

"Yes, I overheard the Slytherins talking yesterday in the library..." Nate trailed off, as he was suddenly all the pieces fell together. The Dark Heir disappeared right after the Final Battle. Snape, the Order's spy, had bags under his eyes and had been snappier than usual; hence, he was most likely in charge of brewing potions to keep the Dark Heir immobilized or something. And lastly, he had seen his parents exist the ward with angry tears in their eyes while Dumbledore's held a reserved yet disgusted glint. And then, there were the Slytherins' namely Death Eater children's speculations...

_Harry. His brother Harry was there._

He just knew he was.

"I'll tell you about it later, promise," he said suddenly, feeling slightly guilty as Neville's face fell in disappointment. "Your nose is bleeding a lot right now," Nate added hurriedly, while mentally wincing at his excuses. "We need to get you to the hospital wing."

Neville gave him a confused glance but nonetheless followed as Nate all but dragged him down to meet Madam Pomfrey.


	6. Medical Visits

**Sullen Fate**

**By: **xxlostdreamerxz

**Note:** PLEASE, please check out my ShortForm (which is on my profile). I'm kind of running low on hits this week and I need to somehow get 200 more views before midnight to win the competition for this week. I'd really, really really appreciate the help.

**Special Thanks:** To the 302 awesome people who were kind enough to help out this week.

* * *

**Chapter 6: Medical Visits**

* * *

Hidden behind a stack of thick, dusty tomes, 'Madam Pomfrey' cursed softly under his breath as he sorted through his notes on soul magics. He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. He had not expected it to be this difficult to collect and identify real texts on Horocruxes. He had scoured the entire Restricted Section for information and when that turned out to be useless, he'd decided to see if he could find any relevant myths and legends.

The boy, who was currently desguised as Madam Pomfrey, sighed in despair.

Harry knew he was already working on borrowed time. Sooner or later, Dumbledore would be back for another round of friendly interogation. However, unlike before, the moment Dumbledore released the magical bindings on the 'prisoner'...his spell, the one that disguised a paralyzed, frozen Madam Pomfrey as himself, would dissolve. And within moments, the truth would be out.

The Dark Heir had escaped...

It would have been so easy to simply escape Hogwarts. He could have, days ago, simpily slipped into the Chamber of Secrets and disappear completely. He knew all of his father's bases, even the secrets ones that no one, not even the inner circle were privy to. And then, he would have an unlimited number of help and resources under his disposal to conduct his research.

But alas, even his father's libraries did not compare with the sheer wealth of information that was at Hogwarts.

Gritting his teeth, the boy forced himself to get back to work. He was here to stay...at least until his identity was unveiled. He wanted to revive his father back as soon as possible...and Hogwarts, with its infinite stores of knowledge, was the quickest path to success. Even though it was undoubtedly more dangerous to stay, he would stick it out.

Anything for his father.

'Madam Pomfrey' let out a distinctly unlady-like curse as he felt someone trip the ward leading into the Hospital Wing. Discretely, he spelled all of his information and texts on soul magics to display only medical jargon. Wipping his hands on his apron, the boy forced himself into play and resume his persona as the nurse.

* * *

**X**

* * *

Nate snuck into the hospital wing, silently beckoning a curious Neville to follow him. His heart was pounding loudly against his chest as his gaze was drawn to a distant, covered hospital bed at the end of the room. He could still see in his mind's eye, that flash of dark, emerald green, before the Dark Heir's eyes returned to its original golden color. He knew that it wasn't anything concrete; after all, many people had green eyes...but his heart said otherwise.

His brother.

His abused brother...

The one who his parents had neglected and sacrificed for _him_. Nate clenched his fist in anger as he thought back to his conversation with Dumbledore. It made him angry, furious even, to know that his parents had hurt Harry because of a stupid prophecy. It was so shallow...he couldn't believe that his parents had taken it upon themselves to neglect one child just so that they could bask in the fame of the other. It was deplorable that the neglect had gone on for so long. What was worse was that so many people actually _knew_ about his brother's situation, but didn't say a word...claiming that they were doing it for the greater good. That they were doing it to protect _him,_ the Prophecy child...the one who was fated to defeat Voldemort.

It made him furious.

He had sacrificed so much for _them._ For these foolish, ignorant hypocrites...

He had committed the ultimate sin of the Light. _Murder._

Nate's lip curled in disgust.

...and they thought of him as a _hero._

It was sickening how wrong the public was. Did they not see that by taking a strike against Voldemort, by _murdering him,_ that they had relinquished their moral ground? That they were now truly no different than Voldemort? It was one thing to defend themselves against attacks; it was a completely different thing to go on the offensive with the intent to destroy. After all, did the Order not initially start rallying against Voldemort because the Dark Lord was murdering people who held a different opinion then he? That they were rallying and fighting for freedom?

His gut churned guilty at the thought.

It was one thing, after all...to defend themselves against an aggressor. It was another to actively go out, seeking to destroy. There was a fine line between justice and simple vengence...and Nate was fairly certain that the Wizarding world as a whole did not see, nor acknowledge it. After all, wasn't slaughtering your enemies - witches and wizards who simply held a different perspective of the world - the exact same thing Voldemort was doing to muggleborns?

Nate shook his head, unwilling to acknowledge the irony.

He lived in a world that both loved yet hated murder.

And he, the Chosen One, was the biggest hypocrite of them all. The true fool of fools.

Nate was jerked out of his thoughts when he felt a wrinkly old hand grab his shoulder. He flinched back, barely managing to avoid crashing into a tray of sharp, particular looking needles and instruments. "M-madam Pomfrey," he greeted hesitantly, when he stared up at the nurse who was looming almost threateningly over him. Nate swallowed his confusion and straightened his shoulders. He would not be cowed by _her. _Anyone who treated his best friend like crap didn't deserve his respect. "Neville broke his nose," he said quietly. "I wanted to make sure that he'd be okay."

Instead of answering, the nurse simply stared at him.

Nate was struck by how intense and piercing the woman's gaze was.

"Madam Pomfrey?"

The woman seemed to shake herself out of her stupor. "Come along then, Mr. Potter," she said, her voice strangely devoid of emotion. "You too Mr. Longbottom."

* * *

**X**

* * *

Resisting the urge to stare at his brother, Harry turned around and idly went through the routines that Madam Pomfrey would - summon her medicine kit, disinfect the bed, and then hustle the patient into it. The boy, _Longbottom,_ was, according to his father's files, a regular at the hospital wing. His hand was shaking as he administered the diagnostic tests and promptly healed the boy's nose.

_His brother._

The last time had had seen him had been during the Last Battle. He had watched, with terror, as his brother destroyed Voldemort...

Alex clenched his teeth, fighting the pain and sorrow that rose at the memory. He had not thought about Nate for such a long time...he hadn't _wanted to._ It was just too complicated. His brother, whom he had once loved dearly, was the one who has destined to destroy the father that he loved. He had not _wanted to chose._ He knew it was selfish but he had wanted them _both._ He had wanted Nate to be alive, but also for Voldemort to be as well.

It was stupid, but he had allowed his loyalties to be divided between the two biggest players in the war.

Nate Potter, his younger brother, and Voldemort, his adoptive father.

Cursing softly under his breath, Alex turned away...barely missed Nate's evaluating stare. "There you are, Mr. Longbottom," he said politely as he gently led the boy to the door, doing his best to play the part of a nurse. "Do try to take care of yourself."

The shy, plump boy nodded, his eyes bright with uncertainty. "Y-yes, Madam Pompfrey," he stuttered, completely at a loss as to why the nurse was suddenly so kind to him. It was almost as if...

Neville came to a halt when Nate suddenly grabbed his arm. He blinked in confusion as he saw the dark, suspicious light in his best friend's eyes.

"Wait," he said, calling out to the quickly departing nurse.

"Yes?"

There was a long, tense pause of silence before Nate spoke, asking the question that had been plaguing his and Neville's minds since the start of the visit.

"You're not Madam Pomfrey," he stated. "Who are you?"

**TBC**

* * *

**Note:** If you guys have the time, **please check out my ShortForm (the link is on my profile)**. I really, really need 200 more hits before midnight and I'd really appreciate the help. Thank you!


End file.
